adventures with fiber and life

July 2017

Monday, July 31, 2017

Well, I made it through the baseball game (& finished knitting a sock), and survived all of them discussing baseballs and bats for an hour at dinner (while wishing I had brought more knitting along). (Honestly, it was a very nice visit, in spite of baseball.)

Today was spent with errands, peaceful stitching, working on the writing class homework (which was not so peaceful, but still good), and enjoying a much cleaner space than usual.

A mishmashed rainbow, a kind of stitching warm-up after a few days away from the needle.

Friday, July 28, 2017

In the blue light of evening, I am looking closely at this painting that was finished today, and liking it. Really liking it.

Our teacher (I really like her, too) sometimes asks us to talk about our work- the whats & whys. Mostly I just gestured my hands around it. Finally, I said, "I was thinking of 'story'." She was confused. She likes things to keep in the abstract, so I think it troubled her a bit. She was concerned about the hill and flower-like shapes. "It's not a story," I said, "It's about 'story', the idea of 'story'".

I like to have an idea, concept, story to think, feel, and wonder about while making.

Thursday, July 27, 2017

The garden grows, abstractly. That seems to be the way things go around here. Woke up to sprinkling rain. It's been 39 days. I went outside and just stood in it this morning. It was "beach" rain, that misty feel good kind. It seems to have stopped now.

At writing class last night, we wrote and wrote. Each exercise taking off in a new direction from the last one. My pencil was worn down and my hand hurt. It was great. Near the end, she had us talk about it all with the person next to us. My partner and I both said how surprised we were that we had ended up writing about our parents. Which led to sharing a little of our backstories, their stories.

And then, there was a quick back and forth of something else. Starting with the information that her writing is generally cheerful, and my stitchings tend to be peaceful daydreams. Which led to the thing that had been pecking at for both of us for a while now... People have questioned why she doesn't write about the truth of her life, and I have been asked why I don't stitch out what happened to me.

Recognizing we both carry feelings of being a fraud and a liar, we stared into each others' wide-open eyes for a second. The next few moments were so quick, I couldn't even tell you who said what between us . . . the gist of it was . . . that we've already been there, to those stories, lived them, mostly worked through them, and that while they are always going to be true and present (and not that we don't ever write or stitch the ugly stories out, or that we don't appreciate and admire those works of art that tell it All), we realize, that when there is a choice to spend time creating, we usually lean towards making things wished for, wanted, needed.

I am not a toucher, but as things spilled out of both of us, I reached over to her hand, and said, regarding the stories we write and stitch, "This is the truth we've been waiting for." "Yes, that's it." We both scribbled that sentence down, and then turned to rejoin the class.

Tuesday, July 25, 2017

A new kind of moon-pie for Moon's belated celebration last night. FIFTEEN. How did that happen? He tells me he can drive in a year. Sigh.

Before the pie, yesterday was a bad parenting day with both boys. I failed left, right, and was completely uncentered. (They didn't do so well themselves, but they have the excuse of undeveloped brains. Me, not so much.)

Moon and I went round and round. After the slamming and stomping, I went into his room. He shoved over on the bed making room for me. "I don't know what happened, but I'm sorry for it." "Me, too." We left it at that. With Blue there was a stand-off of feelings. At times we seem to be reflecting each other, neither of us thrilled with what we see, and are completely stuck in what to do with it all. We tried to talk, but we have no ideas. Probably the answer is time.

I hear this is the Accordion Time. After being so close together during the early years, now we are stretching in new ways. I've been told that we'll come back together eventually. Time.

In the evening, we all pulled ourselves together, and did have a nice time with pie, presents and a couple of board games. (You could almost hear some rusty music coming from the squeeze box of our family.)

We're ok enough, I suppose, but I do feel like I'm missing some pieces, some soft edges that might round me out into a better mama. If only they could be stitched on.

Monday, July 24, 2017

Well, they lost, so we got to come home last night. (I really did root for them, honest. While blessing the parent who brought a huge canopy to share.)

The longhot drive home (six hours) was filled with star stitching, and messing about with K's phone while accomplishing some firsts- took a smart phone photo, posted it on Instagram all by myself, and sent an email on a phone to get help with how to fix the post (thank you, Jude!), and then I took a nap. How strange to think that from the middle of nowhere words could be flying to and from the other side of the continent.

Time to bake another birthday pie for Moon's belated celebration . . .

Saturday, July 22, 2017

There was stitching and playing with shadows as we drove over to in Eastern Washington today for Blue's last baseball tournament.

Oh, it's hot. Not compared to other parts of the planet, I know, but for unacclimated me, two hours of 90+ degrees, in the unshaded middle of the day, just about did me in.

(Noticed that the landscape was very similar to the stitching.)

Today is also Moon's birthday. Blue is staying with the team, so the three of us had dinner out and are relaxing in the hotel this evening. We'll celebrate more when we're back home.

Another game in the morning, and supposably, five more degrees. If they win, we're here till Tuesday, if it's a loss we'll head home tomorrow. It would be wonderful for them to win, but three more days of the heat . . . I don't know what to wish for? Perhaps a unexpected snow storm?

Friday, July 21, 2017

Wrestled with oil paints. Neither of us going where or how we planned, but ending in an acceptable truce. At least until the next layer.

Scurried from painting class to an appointment. It was a new driving route, to a place where there is frustratingly little parking, so allowed for plenty of time. Arrived in plenty of time and found a perfect parking spot. A spot under nice trees to stare at, with a breeze. Time to sit still, breathe, listen to the radio, stitch and think of the sea.

After appointment-

Because of that time of sitting, staring, stitching, and listening, the car was dead.

Called AAA.

Phone died.

Borrowed stranger's phone (she had to show me how to use it).

There were two more hours to sit, stare, stitch, and to imagine the music of the sea and the hum of the moon.

Wednesday, July 19, 2017

Full of anxiety about a new something that was beginning tonight, I spent much of the day stitching and stitching on this rainbow edging. This cloth has been therapeutic even before it gets to Wendy. I suppose that's true of most stitchings.

Anyhow . . . Anxiety. Talking with my sister this afternoon, she said a lot of smart things, but the connection wasn't great, so I missed a bunch of it, but could feel it was good stuff. We wondered how often anxiety is habitual? And if it is a habit, how do you break it? And what if it's a Pavlov's Dog habit, something your body has learned to do, no matter what you think? I suggested eating cake every time the stressor happens.

Tonight's nervousness/pounding heart/hives came from starting a writing class. It's been thirty years since I wrote for a class. Would they all be twenty-something? Would I be the only newbie? Would they all be "real" writers? Would they make me read my writing out loud? Would I get off at the right bus stop and find my way there?

The first thing she had us do was make a list of things people might not know about us, and then we would share one of them. The first thing I wrote was "panicking panicking panicking" The one I actually shared was- "Out of irrational fear, I will do everything in my power not to step on metal coverings in the sidewalk."

Arriving right on time, there were six of us, a range of twenty-something to my fifty-something, four of us new (or rusty) to writing classes, two had books waiting to be published, and the teacher said that she would never make us share our work. It was off to a swell start.

It was good. Really Good. We read wonderful essays aloud, talked about them, and ended with a timed exercise of writing a List Essay, that I ended up wanting to share.

That I make a good enough apple pie (this one was for K.'s birthday), and that K. is a really good guy and sport. (Actually, I already knew that.)

He happily spent his birthday eve at the college where I take painting classes, attending the student art show opening. The boys came, too. Not quite as happily.

Also, I know that I can't take decent photos in galleries for the life of me.

I had three pieces in the show- "Agate" (top row 2nd from the left), "Seeing Through" (middle right w/hot pink spot. When I got there it was hung sideways, my fault, having misplaced the tag on the back, but good to know it worked in another direction.)

and "Golden Dreams" (center bottom). It was fun to socialize with the other students and celebrate our work together.

And now I know that in order to reply to people on Instagram, I'm supposed to do it from a phone, otherwise it doesn't link to the person I'm replying to. Does that matter? My tired eyes and I can't promise to do that, also it means waiting for a phone to be home and available. Hmmm...growing pains, or over my head?